I came through the living room and C.W. was reading news on my wife’s Ipad. He was in the somewhat unusual shape of a well-dressed, and very attractive, teenage girl. He/she was shaking his/her head.
“What’s up,” I asked.
“Seelishkrepi++sar,” he said, being himself, the alien. Then I heard his Galactic Universal Translator hum.
His Gut was Telling him something.
“Bizarre,” he said.
“There’s a feature article in your news source about the passing of a woman who became famous for having sex with every member of a Rock and Roll band in one night. The lead singer mentioned it in one of their hit songs.”
“I seem to remember,” I said. “So?”
“Did you know her?”
“Someone pointed her out to me in a bar once,” I said, “but I can claim neither acquaintance nor recipience.”
“And she was famous for that act?”
“Well, that and stories she told about performing same-same for other bands and famous musicians who came to town. They call them ‘groupies’ and she was the national heroine.”
“So what worthwhile achievements garnered her such notice? How did she earn the acclaim?”
“Just being famous, I suppose. You aren’t the first visitor who asked me about her.”
He retreated into his character.
“So,” she asked. “If I do the same, can I, like, be famous? I mean, like, you know, for, like, having sex with a famous person or maybe more than one.” The eyes that looked into mine were as blue as a quiet winter’s sky and beaming from a face as fresh and innocent as a newborn lamb’s. “My friends, like, tell me I should become somebody, and I’m, like, I don’t know how.”
“Why don’t you read something besides the news,” I said.
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